


You're just too good to be true

by ThisIsMyVoice



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Clarke, Confident lexa, F/F, First Meeting, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Lexa's eyes though, Maybe some angst, They both have so much game, hints of romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10140068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisIsMyVoice/pseuds/ThisIsMyVoice
Summary: Clarke Griffin is most definitely NOT being a creep...She just wants to see if the beautiful new neighbor moving in next door is actually real or you know, a figment of Clarke's considerably active imagination.But as is often the case, reconnaissance missions like this never quite go according to plan...





	

**Author's Note:**

> So this was actually just a writing exercise and as usual it took on a life of its own. Hope you have as much fun reading it as i did writing it :)
> 
> Enjoy.

Okay so maybe this was crossing a line.

 

Then again, that would have been a good point to note about half an hour ago...

 

It wasn’t that she was being a creep, Clarke swore to herself, she just needed one more glance of her beautiful new neighbor that had moved into the house literally right next door from hers.

 

And yes, maybe ‘I know what this looks like but I’m not actually a creep’ is practically the nationwide creep national anthem but she swears she’s not doing anything _offensive…_ Except maybe standing on empty, upside down paint bucket so she can peek through the small hole in their shared wooden fence, so that she can catch the exact moment she steps out again in her cute emerald green plaid shirt, tied into a knot on her waist over a white undershirt, and black high wasted jeans that hugged every curve of her body as if it had been painted on…

 

Okay maybe she is being a little bit of a creep. But when you spotted a woman _that_ beautiful it was hard not to doubt your eyes because what Clarke had seen when she’d gone to take out her trash, right about the same time the moving truck pulled away, was the briefest glimpse of a dark haired, green eyed, golden -skinned _goddess_ and her heart had given the strangest sort of _thu-thump_ , stuttering to a stop before shakily restarting two whole seconds later and Clarke just needed to know if she was _real._

 

Just one look, she promised herself, just one –

 

The front door of her neighbor’s house suddenly swings open and out she strides.

 

Despite herself Clarke feels her mouth go dry.

 

Something in her brain kind of short-circuits and everything suddenly seems to be moving in slow motion.

 

She’s even more beautiful than she thought.

 

The artist in her presses eagerly against her peep-hole, trying to get as much of her into view as possible.

 

Her bone structure is phenomenal and so is her jawline, lines so smooth and sharp they look like they could cut glass. This sharp severity, transposed against the softness of full pink lips and even fuller curves, large forest green eyes richer than the lawn she’s striding across, all narrow waist and rounded hips and legs that go on for days, produce an effect that’s nothing less than _stunning._

 

Clarke is not drooling.

 

Okay maybe a little bit but god which person _wouldn’t._

 

Clarke has watched her for all of five seconds and she’s ready to dash back inside her house and grab the nearest canvas to do her damn best to capture the _art_ of this woman -

 

The easy confidence of her stride, enviable grace of her movements, the way she holds her head up high, strong and effortlessly dignified, royalty written into the set of her shoulders, the long column of her neck, draped across her chest like a red sash declaring her command. She’s the kind of person people are both drawn irresistibly to and compelled to move away from, a parting sea of awe and fear and Clarke doesn’t know why but she can’t shake the feeling that in another life she must have commanded armies, ruled nations, held the whole world in thrall with the push and pull of her, the hard and soft of her and Clarke is straining to see more.

 

She’s strangely breathless and exhilarated just _watching_ and so caught in the image of this woman, with swords strapped to her hips and war-paint smeared across her cheeks, it takes her a moment to register the bright green eyes looking…

 

Right.

 

At.

 

Her.

 

Clarke jerks back with something that is between a horrified yelp and a scream.

 

She has one heart-wrenching second to be absolutely terrified as she sways dangerously backwards and then the bucket tips and Clarke comes tumbling down with a crash.

 

She lands hard on her back, head cracking against the ground and lets out a not so quiet groan, all the air rushing out of her lungs at once.

 

Well if she hadn’t noticed Clarke before, she certainly would now.

 

Clarke lays there for a moment, curled up against the pain, her head pulsing with white-hot flashes of agony, too dazed to move immediately. The sound of running footsteps barely registers and then the raven -haired goddess is leaning over her, mouth tight with worry, eyes dark with concern, a small frown on her face and Clarke doesn’t even care that she might maybe have a concussion because it was so worth it, to be this close.

 

Her eyes are an indescribable shade of green, as un-containable in a single color as the sea. From down here, with shadows veiling her face, they are dark and deep, endless forests inviting Clarke to get lost in their depths, flecked with hints of gold like rays of sunlight filtering through a forest canopy. Clarke’s heart _thu-thumps_ staring into those green eyes, something fluttering, fluttering feather light and ticklish warm in her abdomen.

 

god she’s so screwed.

 

“Are you okay?” asks the woman in a voice Clarke is pretty sure will follow her into her dreams. It's lower than Clarke expected, as smooth and strong as the rest of her and maybe there’s no reason why the sound of it should delight her but it does. Everything about this woman delights Clarke.

 

She kneels beside Clarke and the shift changes the light across her face once again, turns her eyes from forests into open grasslands, into well-manicured lawns, sunlight glinting over dew covered grass and Clarke swallows hard, can’t quite bring herself to speak around the dryness of her throat.

 

The woman’s frown deepens when Clarke isn’t able to answer. One hand comes to rest gently on Clarke’s abdomen as she leans a little over her, the other moving behind Clarke’s head, fingers gently searching. And Clarke’s heart, already racing, goes into overdrive. She closes her eyes against the soft rub of fingers against her scalp, doesn’t even wince when her fingers come across the throbbing area at the back of her head. She considers her heart, beating so fast that she can’t even count individual beats and thinks that this is maybe how people die and no one ever realizes but if so, god what a way to go. The hand at the back of her head withdraws and Clarke drags her eyes open, staring into deep forests once more.

 

“It looks like you’re probably going to have a little bump but I think you’re going to be alright. Do you feel alright?” the woman asks her gently and Clarke swallows again, valiantly urging her vocal chords to _work_ dammit.

 

“Yeah, I’m…” trying to figure out how to paint your eyes, capture the magic of your touch, the stroke of your fingertips, “good. Never better.” She breathes, trying for a small reassuring smile but her mouth apparently isn’t listening to her mind because her lips stretch wide into a smile that’s soft, a little dazed, more than a little delighted, more than a little awed.

 

Clarke knows her like is showing and she just can’t seem to stop it.

 

She watches the concern fade out from her neighbor’s face, caution replacing the questions in her eyes, expression smoothing into neutral with the exception of one of her eyebrows that shifts ever so slightly upwards.

 

That tiny movement is like a splash of ice cold water to Clarke’s face and suddenly the world around her comes in with almost painful clarity.

 

Clarke watches her eyes shift to the paint bucket, and the fence, and the hole in the fence and then back to Clarke.

 

Clarke feels the heat of what promises to be a true monster of a blush burning in her cheeks.

 

Her neighbor’s eyes make the same circuit again, slower this time, lingering on each item and Clarke feels anxiety grab hold of her heart and _squeeze._

 

“It’s not what it looks like” she blurts out, a little desperately. Dammit, she curses to herself, because whenever someone says that it’s always _exactly_ what it looks like.

 

The heat on her cheeks flares white-hot as those green eyes drift back to hers, eyebrow arching slightly higher.

 

“Really?” She drawls and the cold disinterest of it snakes down Clarke’s spine. She has to forcibly withhold a shudder, body tightening in response. “Because it looks exactly like you were spying on me…” she pauses, trailing off expectantly, an eyebrow arching again.

 

 

It takes Clarke an embarrassingly long handful of seconds before she works out what she’s waiting for.

 

 

“oh god, Griffin, Clarke Griffin.” Clarke rushes out, eyes wide and words a little too fast a little too loud.

 

Her neighbor purses her lips against the barest hint of a smile, what might be a spark of amusement lighting in her eyes, the barest crack in a wall of ice.

 

It eases the fist around Clarke’s heart the tiniest bit, let’s the tension in her body relax just slightly. “well Griffin Clarke Griffin,” she says and oh yes, that’s definitely amusement in her gaze, and Clarke relaxes a little more, sinks back into the dirt, weak with relief, “do you normally stare at all your neighbors through peepholes or is it just me?”

 

Okay Clarke’s entire face is flaming now and her neighbor’s lips twitch upwards at the corners.

 

“I -I” Clarke wonders if there’s any chance she can still save herself. Decides probably not but isn’t above trying anyway. “wasn’t spying on you?” The way her voice ticks upwards at the end to make it sound like a question really doesn’t help her case and Clarke kind of wants to bludgeon herself with the paint bucket, or maybe hide her head inside it, or just sink into the ground and let it swallow her whole. You know, the usual stuff when faced with abject embarrassment although Clarke supposes she brings situations like like this on herself.

 

“No?” Lexa asks, an eyebrow lifting even higher than it had before. She doesn’t sound like she believes her in the least.

 

“No” Clarke blusters, going for firm and confident. “I was,” she waves her hand in a noncommittal gesture meant to suggest she was…doing something else. Hopefully, literally _anything_ else.

 

Her neighbor smirks at her attempt at subterfuge and there’s something delightfully wicked about it.

 

It kind of makes Clarke tingle.

 

“Yes, you were.”

 

“No I wasn’t”

 

“Yes”

 

“No”

 

“yes”

 

“uh-uh”

 

“uh huh” the woman counters and then huffs out half a laugh like she can’t even believe she’s having this conversation and gestures to the hole in the fence and the overturned bucket,” I literally caught you in the act Clarke.”

 

Clarke kind of loves the way she says her name, the ‘k’ clicking against the roof of her mouth like a gun cocking. Fleetingly she has to wonder if Cupid has upgraded his arsenal, 21st century advancements and all that.

 

She takes in a deep breath, contemplates releasing another steady stream of denials only to release it on a long sigh. “Okay, yeah I was looking at you. I’m not going to call it spying because I don’t work for a secret governmental organization and I have no plans to make you disappear.” She raises both her eyebrows at the woman still leaning over her to buttress her point and is gratified by that slight upward twitch of her lips before Clarke breathes another sigh.

 

“I’m sorry though for staring at you…through a hole…in a fence. I promise I wasn’t trying to be creepy or rude or whatever horrible thing you’re probably thinking. I just wanted to make sure you were actually real. You are quite literally maybe the most beautiful woman I have ever se-“ Clarke breaks off abruptly as she realizes just how much she was actually revealing. Her eyes grow almost comically large.

 

 

A tense second passes, then two and then the woman is actually tilting her head up and chuckling, the sound soft and warm and just about as beautiful as the rest of her. Clarke feels her heart do that uneven thud, _t_ _hu-thump_ , slow and unsteady in her chest. She smiles ruefully loving her laughter even when it’s technically at her expense.

 

 

“Wow Clarke you… are something else.” She breathes when she’s done and it sounds almost impossibly fond for someone that she’s just met but Clarke’s not complaining, not when having Lexa’s eyes on her, bright and gleaming with mirth has her stomach tying itself into knots. Happy, tingly, shivery knots and Clarke gives her a rather sheepish smile.

 

Her responding smile is nothing less than radiant. For a moment, Clarke is content to do nothing but lie down and bask in the sheer brilliance of it.

 

Then she stands and offers her a hand and Clarke takes it, can’t help but marvel at the smooth softness of her palm in contrast to the hardness of the bones in her hand, the easy strength with which she pulls Clarke to her feet, and if that contrast leaves Clarke a little breathless, well, she’ll just blame it on suddenly being upright after spending so long on the ground. That and the fact that her head is still throbbing, a muted but still insistent ache in time with her heartbeat.

 

 

The light hits the woman’s face differently when Clarke’s standing, hits her _eyes_ differently, so that they shine in the afternoon light. Her teeth are shining too as her smile stretches a little wider, and Clarke thinks that this wide open smile may be one of her favorite looks on her even though it’s making her knees a little weak. And in all, it seems like her new neighbor might be a dangerous health hazard for Clarke –

 

_(falling off of paint-buckets, stuttering heartbeats, twisting intestines, flaming cheeks, weak knees, vertigo, strange and unexplainable tingling) –_

 

and maybe she _should_ be worried, but with the sun shining, and this beautiful woman smiling, Clarke’s just not sure she wants to fight this, not sure she can because whatever this particular illness is called she knows she’s got it bad.

 

The woman offers Clarke her hand, light still dancing in her eyes. “I’m Lexa by the way. Lexa Woods.” and of course her name is as beautiful as the rest of her, representative of the forests her very eyes embody.

 

Clarke resists the urge to swipe her hands against her jeans just to make sure they’re not sweaty before taking Lexa’s hand. They’re just as warm and soft as before.

 

Lexa. she rolls the name around in her mind, then tests it out on her tongue, loving the way Lexa smiles with her eyes, enough that she’s not really thinking when she automatically adds,

 

“I’m Clarke.” Almost as soon as the words leave her mouth Clarke realizes what’s wrong with them and makes a last-ditch effort to save herself. “which you know...from when we spoke earlier and you asked me with your eyebrows and I…answered…you”

 

She wants to snatch all her words out of the air, cram them back into her mouth and swallow them back down. Hard. But the damage is already done and Lexa’s eyes are sparkling in that way that means she’s smiling even though there’s just the barest upturn of her mouth to show for it and Clarke can feel her cheeks heating and she face-palms herself because really maybe Lexa should have just come with a warning. ‘Careful, gorgeous woman. Might turn brains to absolute mush.’

 

Clarke swears she usually has way more game than this, a fact she tries to communicate.

 

“I’m so sorry, I usually have way more game than this.” Clarke mumbles into her palm. That earns her another quiet, truly delighted sounding chuckle from Lexa and that mollifies her enough that she risks a peek through her fingers.

 

Lexa’s smile is as slow and easy as sunrise, soft as early morning light, as soothing as cool dirt and there’s something about the reserved calm of the woman, about the pleased white of her teeth, slight tilt of her head and that spark of curiosity and amusement in her eyes that makes Clarke get the feeling that she doesn’t smile like this for just anyone. Her heart swells with a warmth that floods her cheeks, rushes to the tips of her ears when Lexa’s smile turns into a smirk, mischief sharp and glinting playfully at the edges.

 

“So, you say.” She murmurs and Clarke feels compelled to defend her admittedly unknown-in-this- particular-instance-but-still-widely-acknowledged-reputation-as-the-bearer-of-much-game-thank-you-very-much with a “Hey” that’s more token than anything. She’s too taken by the way Lexa’s smile is teasing and playful at the same time. The way it shifts to something friendly and bright and more open than she would have ever thought the woman was capable of being from a distance.

 

“But what you may be _woefully_ lacking in game-“ Clarke purses her lips and squints her eyes, playful now too and little things like the fact that technically, she doesn’t _know_ Lexa at al, doesn’t seem to matter when viewed in light of the bigger picture – the way Lexa’s smile tugs a little wider.

 

“You more than make up for in charm. You can consider me flattered Clarke. And it’s very nice to meet you.” And Lexa shakes her hand (which Clarke had forgotten was _still_ resting in hers) her grip pleasantly solid and Clarke realizes with another rush of warmth that Lexa is secretly _nice._ Nice enough to not chew her out after catching her red- handed, staring at her from a hole in their fence, nice enough to tolerate all Clarke’s bumbling and tease her gently about it, easing her embarrassment into a humor they could both share in, Nice enough to give her a compliment that has Clarke kind of pink in the cheeks, because Lexa actually looks like she means it. Like she might also be kind of delighted that she’s met Clarke.

 

Clarke remembers to actually let go of Lexa’s hand this time and shoves her hands (one warm, _warm_ from its contact with Lexa’s skin) into the pocket of her overalls and, gives Lexa another sheepish smile, glancing up at her from under her lashes, and Lexa’s smile stretches a little wider, turns into something more like a grin.

 

They stand there for a while in a moment that feels an awful lot like friendship and Clarke is trying to commit Lexa’s face to memory, wanting to preserve the moment for long after their interaction here is done.

 

Then time is up and Clarke has reached the limit of time she’s allowed to stare happily at a stranger without things becoming awkward. She has to go back inside and finish the painting she was working on (although she doubts that she'll be able to paint anything other than jade green eyes and killer lines, a commander coming to life on her canvas). Lexa probably has to finish moving in, unpacking boxes and stuff.

 

Clarke should probably start walking away now.

 

Lexa probably should too.

 

Neither of them move.

 

And then after several more long seconds of warm eye-contact Clarke finally clears her throat.

 

“May I at least walk you back to your door, you know to make up for all…this.” Clarke makes that widely encompassing gesture with her hand again and she can see the way Lexa’s eyes warm with amusement.

 

“So chivalrous.” Lexa murmurs and doesn’t mention that her door is literally less than 10 metres away, just beyond the fence they’re standing in front of.

 

Clarke grins at her and bows low before offering her arm in an exaggeratedly gallant gesture, her heartbeat spiking when Lexa flashes her the quickest grin, white teeth flashing for an instant. Lexa drops into a low curtsy and Clarke has to bite her lip to hold back her laughter because Lexa actually keeps a straight- face throughout, the sparkle in her eyes the only thing giving away the fact that she’s joking at all.

 

She hooks her arm easily into Clarke’s elbow, draws close, and Clarke doesn’t even have the chance to be self-conscious about the fact that she’s escorting this beautiful woman home in a white shirt and faded blue overalls splattered with paint because Lexa’s arm is solid and strong against hers and so, so _warm._

 

And Clarke swallows down the butterflies fluttering in her throat when Lexa glances at her, mouth twitching.

 

Clarke grins outright.

 

And if she takes extra small steps, and walks a little slower than is really necessary considering Lexa’s house is _right there_ Lexa doesn’t call her out on it, matches Clarke’s slow small steps. So maybe she’s not the only one who doesn’t want this to end, whatever _this_ is.

 

All too soon they’re on Lexa’s porch right in front of her door and Clarke tries not to sigh as she disengages her arm from Lexa’s. “Home sweet home.” She says, going for chipper and Lexa simply nods.

 

There’s suddenly a weighted kind of tension bearing down on them and they both stand there for a while, looking at anything but each other, the space around them pressing in tightly, the space between them warm and crackling, and they sway closer, shift back apart in a serious of tiny unconscious movements. Clarke struggles to find something to say that won’t let this just _end._

 

“you know I –“

 

“If you would like –”

 

They both pause and look at each other, surprised.

 

And then the tension breaks in warm laughter and Clarke feels something inside her sagging with relief, turning loose and relaxed and easy.

 

“You should – ”

 

“No please go ahead.” Clarke insists. She was staring at this woman through a hole in a fence and didn’t get cussed out for it, it’s the least she can do.

 

Lexa shrugs, and there’s something strangely endearing about the movement, about the way she suddenly seems almost _shy_ as she glances up at Clarke. “I was just going to say I’m really glad I met you Clarke Griffin. You’re the first person I’ve actually talked to in this neighborhood and I was actually kind of scared everyone would be… I don’t know, stiff and formal. Unfriendly even but you’re – ”

 

“A walking disaster area? a possible spy for the government? a gallant artist with _no_ game.”

 

Lexa’s shoulders shake with silent laughter as she purses her lips. “actually I was going to say really interesting but those are your words not mine.”

 

“Oh.” Clarke says and then wrinkles her nose at Lexa because technically she was agreeing with the list of all those other things and she was kind of supposed to contradict her.

 

Lexa laughs out now, the sound washing over Clarke in a wave of warmth.

 

“And fun,” Lexa adds, mirth still in her voice, “and kind of achingly sweet for a walking disaster area.”

 

“Hey!” Clarke wasn't sure whether to be more flattered or offended. 

 

_Oh who was she kidding, she was grinning so widely it's a wonder her face didn't split in half. she was flattered. so so flattered._

 

“And beautiful in this this utterly devastating kind of way.” Lexa adds, grin fading, voice lowering to a murmur, eyes soft on Clarke. She reaches out, gently captures a strand of Clarke’s hair that must have escaped from her messy topknot during the fall, tucks it behind her ear. And Clarke feels all the breath in her lungs rush out at the contact. Her skin tingles where Lexa touches her, a trail of heat following her fingers all the way to her ear. Something in her gut quivers ,trembles, locks.

 

“Oh.” She breathes again, quiet, the word barely more than a whisper against her lips.

 

Lexa’s eyes are darker now, the turquoise of stormy seas as she stares at Clarke, taking her in. she nods slightly and Clarke doesn’t know if she’s giving her a confirmation or assuring herself of something but it doesn’t really matter because the way Lexa’s looking at her now has Clarke’s heart actually _pounding_ against the bars of her rib-cage. The moment stretches, turns quiet and taut and electric, that earlier tension resurfacing and for a moment, as Lexa’s eyes drop briefly to her lips Clarke thinks that she just might sway forward and kiss her.

 

But Clarke wants to do this right, wants to give this a proper shot because she’s never met anyone like Lexa before and she would like to _know_ someone like Lexa. She would like to know Lexa.

 

So Clarke forces air back into her collapsed lungs and breathes unsteadily out again. “Now that’s game” she whispers.

 

And Lexa meets her eyes and the tension is broken for a second time with the thrilling sound of her soft laughter. Lexa looks away for a second and there’s that hint of shyness again, that ducking her head down to look at her feet, the slightest pink tinge to bronzed cheeks and Clarke doesn’t know if it’s her or all the heat of the afternoon but the effect is breathtaking anyways.

 

_(Clarke hopes its her)_

 

When Lexa meets her eyes again, that earlier confidence seems to come rushing back as she smirks at Clarke, suddenly still, feet no longer shifting.

 

_(and if Clarke is absolutely enchanted by the shift, wonders if she presses forward and backs Lexa up against the door, if she’ll get that endearingly shy look back or the intoxicating confidence she sees now, she keeps those thoughts to herself and marks the moment for later consideration.)_

 

“well Griffin Clarke Griffin,” Lexa starts, and Clarke already knows without the smirk and good- natured gleam in her eyes that she’s teasing, “I do have to be going now. If I don’t get started soon I might never actually finish packing. But maybe next time when you’re not busy you can come over?” her voice pitches ever so slightly higher, making it almost a question but not quite, a drop of vulnerability in Lexa’s sea of confidence and Clarke _wants_ to _know_ this beautiful bundle of walking contradictions. “You know, knock on the door like a normal human being,” she leans in, knocks Clarke’s shoulder gently with her own, a wry grin on her face to show she’s just joking and Clarke grins back, her heart singing because _next time_.

 

“Sure,” she laughs, gently knocks Lexa’s shoulder back, “next time. Being a normal human being is always worth a try.”

 

And their meeting ends to the sound of Lexa’s laughter, bright and warm and as beautiful as the rest of her. As she steps towards the doorway, the grin she gives Clarke, the delight in her eyes is nothing less than dazzling and Clarke is dazed and Clarke is happy and Clarke feels so so _warm_ when Lexa whispers ‘bye’, a soft smile in place and eyes sparkling with laughter.

 

“Bye” Clarke whispers back as the door gently closes, Lexa giving her one last smile before finally shutting it.

 

And that little bump that’s rising behind Clarke’s head from its impromptu meeting with the floor, the little ripples of pain she’s only now noticing that promise a killer headache later in the afternoon? Totally worth it.

 

Next time, Clarke’s heart sings as she makes her way off Lexa’s porch and heads back home.

 

They have a next time.

 

And Lexa thought she didn’t have game.

 

Pfft.

 

Please.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys :) 
> 
> I just wanted to let you know this fic may have multiple chapters. I won't actually start posting until I'm confident that I'll definitely finish the story but just in case you're interested, feel free to subscribe.


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